


The Concatenation, Incarceration, and Condemnation of the Owls

by Whambamthanksbatfam



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Capture, Court of Owls, Drowning, Gen, Panic, Talons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 21:46:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14222451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whambamthanksbatfam/pseuds/Whambamthanksbatfam
Summary: This poor unidentified soul was caught by the owls.





	The Concatenation, Incarceration, and Condemnation of the Owls

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy!  
> I wrote this story as a submission to my school Art Magazine, and I really liked it so I thought I would share it with y'all. The character is an unidentified soul. I wanted the story to be really creepy and obscure. Depending on response I may write more on it. Enjoy!

_"Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head."_

* * *

It is a room (If one could call it that). It’s a dark grey similar to storm clouds, and cube-like, but with a sort of warped view. A light plop comes from behind. A simple cadence registers. The drops like what one hears from a leaky faucet. Chains, crafted of what seems like glass, clink. A long line of intricate soft-edged rectangles. They look harmless and innocent. Incapable of holding anything down or doing damage.

The chains are shaken. Nothing happens. The bindings are beaten on the ground with the intention of shatter, but all that ensues is a steady stream of water. The plops have turned into a gentle stream. A small whirring surfaces, then something creeps in the gunmetal grey. The figure appears celestial and amorphous, no defined shape. Nothing would dare to look into it. The figure creeps out as fast as it crept in.

The chains are rapped on the ground again. The soft flow of water becomes a moderate strength equal to that of a hose in one’s yard. The clear liquid has been going for so long that the small, battleship gray space is filling with water. Attention is now drawn to the fact that the room has no windows or any other means for the water to escape.

A time later, the space is half-full of the liquid. The glass chain has strengthened, tightening. An image of the aforementioned organism superimposes itself upon the room. Whether it is real or a mirage, one would not know. As the water finishes filling the room. A radiating pain comes from the center. A pressure that is increasing at an alarming rate. A substantial wet paw is suddenly and annihilatingly clamped over the face.

Sheer panic ensues, but it does nothing. The complex saccular thoracic organs burn like lava. Not to let any more water in is determined, but the efforts are useless, and it all goes black. An abyss that, if looked into, is deep and on which cannot be focused.

* * *

“To eradicate us fully, you'd need to rip apart the foundation of the city...” This is the concatenation, incarceration, and condemnation of The Owls. Do not cross them.


End file.
